Words
by ponderer
Summary: “It is a whisper of his kiss, a quiet murmur of appreciation for what you are to him…” DASEY kinda sorta a sequel to Great Pretender, but can be enjoyed seperately.


TITLE: Words

AUTHOR: ponderer

SUMMARY: A slight continuation of "The Great Pretender" and can be enjoyed separately. "It is a whisper of his kiss, a quiet murmur of appreciation for what you are to him…"

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I should have been writing my proposal for Business Writing, but this popped out instead. Actually, I should have been asleep when I started this by my apartment building decided to have a fire alarm go off and did not end for thirty minutes. So… this is the result. I'm surprised it's actually happy.

Also, I would just like to voice my thanks for all of the great reviews for "The Great Pretender". It means a lot to me that so many readers enjoy what I write; so please continue with all of the great words and keep on reading!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anybody, I swear. Reviews are greatly appreciated.

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"I love you," is a whisper across the back of your neck, up your spine, down the length of your legs all the way to your toes and then circle around your fingertips. It is a whisper of his kiss, a quiet murmur of appreciation for what you are to him; family, friend, lover. You're a companion, a confidant, an advocate that accepts him for what he chooses to do.

You whisper it back, but with words stringing out of your mouth. You say it into his kiss, or his ear, his fingers, whatever available skin you can reach. You always use words; your best weapon and easiest Achilles Heel. You spell out your heart, and when you use silence instead of phrases, it means that much more.

The relationship was once about the physical, how much tension could be destroyed by one kiss, one touch of his hand, but then to only be heightened and brought to your knees when it continues in his room, on the floor or his bed, and once on his desk. Now it's more than that, the small brushes of pinkies while passing the potatoes at dinner, the lingering kisses instead of the rushed ones, or the grins that cannot be banished from your faces after stolen moments shared. Now its little bits of information coming out after the physical aspect has stolen all ability to move; bodies sweaty and exhausted. However, he doesn't allow you to leave his bed anymore, not until morning when you steal from his room while he continues to sleep.

He sleeps with you clutched to him, back to his chest, legs entwined, arms around your waist, hand clasping onto a breast. You wake in the same position every night. It's strange when you do spend the night away from each other; you can't sleep or get comfortable and the next morning is horrible and leaves you feeling extremely empty. He'll be grumpy as well, scowling more than usual, and everyone knows to back off. You are his morning coffee, if he doesn't get a taste, he'll be irritable to all around.

At school, stolen glances are all you can really afford. It's not that you don't care that people know, or that you're embarrassed. It's just something that you want to keep private, something precious and wonderful that doesn't need more attention than it already receives. He's the one that would rather be public, which is odd because he's never been like that with any other girls. It's like you've switched places in the aspect of general relationships, and this is not the only thing you argue over, but he understands your way of thinking and he is rewarded once you get home.

You're a jealous person, and so is he, so it's hard to see him flirting with other girls; especially girls that he shares classes with and you can't watch. And yet, you don't blow up about it, because you see the way he looks at you when you're tutoring after school, or helping out the theater and how he sees other boys look at you. In fact, you don't get mad about how he acts possessive when you let him touch you. Instead you gravitate towards it, even allowing yourself an extra smile in someone else's direction just for his kisses to be that much harder and soaring.

While you're sleeping in his bed, his soft breathe blowing across the back of your neck, you let yourself believe that this will work out in one of those cliché happy endings that you make him watch from time to time. You allow the thoughts of dating openly in college, studying together into the late hour, him bringing you soup in bed while you're sick. Then, it goes further into the future and this is when you get queasy in your stomach. A ring, a white dress, beautiful flowers that bring out the specks of green in his eyes, a house, a car, children's laughter. It makes you nervous because you know, deep down where you keep things like this hidden from everybody, that if he left, you'd be broken. You knew going into this that there was no going back. Now that you think about it, those were his words murmured when he was above you, panting, beautiful. You nodded and let him enter you and it was with a sigh from his lips that you knew that this was it for him too. And to know that, that you broke him down to feeling this way, means everything.

You fight, and it's harsher than before because you and he both know what buttons to push to make each other hurt so much. But, no matter who starts it, he's the one who fixes it. It may take a few minutes, or a few days, but he comes back, head bowed and tail between his legs. He doesn't need to say anything and neither do you, so he just crawls into bed with you, cuddles around you, and you lay there together believing that everything will work out on its own. Sometimes you fear that one day, he won't come back to fix it, that he'll give up and move on to someone less complicated. But then you realize that he's just as complicated and he fears that when he comes looking, you won't be there.

You think back on the way you got together, caught up in the moment of a stupid argument, about him bringing girls over in front of their siblings, and you were with somebody else, but that didn't stop you from kissing him. The way he was looking at you, eyes bright, mouth in a firm line, chest heaving, and you knew that you had to taste, just try, once, and you did.

He didn't stop you.

It was one of those kisses that decided your future because it wasn't just a kiss that could be passed away meaning nothing (and really, what kiss could mean nothing) and it was just easier to fall into him than run away. He's always had that about him, something always draws you in.

He says the same about you.

The words he does say sometimes shock you, because you try to not believe him because it will break you if you found out it was all a lie, but you know it's true because he doesn't just sputter words out like you. He takes his time and mulls things over, and as frustrating as it can be, you realize it's not just laziness or carelessness. He wants to say the right thing, the perfect thing, and that moment of silence while he's thinking means more than anything he could ever say; just because he's trying.

When you ramble on and on about something, whether it's about school or his job, anything really, he gets this look on his face and leans over and kisses you on the forehead. It only gets you stop talking for a minute or two, your mind moving a mile a minute, because he just looks beautiful staring at you thoughtfully, and when you start talking again, only flustered this time, you realize that you talk for him to stop you.

So you wait for the next time.

It doesn't take long.


End file.
